


It's a Toss Up

by TGP



Series: Eyesight [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Genderqueer!Harry, Multi, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Secret Paternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGP/pseuds/TGP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not until Harry has missed a third period that he starts getting worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Toss Up

It’s not until Harry has missed a third period that he starts getting worried. With his athletic lifestyle and the malnutrition through his childhood, they have always been a little sporadic, but three pushes it past sporadic into actually missed. It takes him another week before he covertly buys the detection potion and watching it turn pink is the most terrifying thing he has ever done.

He stays home from work and panics.    
  
The second potion is just as sure as the first, as is the third one. Then Harry accepts it. He’s absolutely, mind-numbingly terrified but Harry has faced down dour professors and dark lords and ministry ridiculousness; he knows how to keep walking forward. 

Harry does not have a specific doctor, usually just lets the auror’s in-house mediwizard handle things, but at the moment, he would rather not go to him. The auror mediwizard is a surly, overworked curmudgeon who always looks at Harry like he’s the root of all trouble (but then again, Harry does have to see the man a lot...) No, Harry goes to St. Mungo’s and heads towards the maternity wing.   
  
The Wizarding World, in general, can be a little strange at times. How they handle pregnancy and birthing is just the same. Most witches birth at home and there is a thriving midwifery trade in the community, but enough muggleborns with progressive ideals have come through that there is a small but serviceable wing of St. Mungos for the purpose.    
  
Harry has no idea how to go about this, so he simply walks up to the nurse’s station and asks very quietly, “Is there a mediwitch I could speak to? Or make an appointment with?”   
  
The nurse doesn’t even look up from the chart she’s noting, her feather quill swishing with every tidy movement. Her nametag proclaims her to be named Medina. “You’ll want the front desk, love. Trauma and regulars that way.”   
  
“...It... I mean...” Harry swallows and that’s when the nurse finally lifts her head to look at him, her eyes slowly growing wide with recognition. He stares back at her and feels like he’s going to throw up. “I have absolutely no idea how to go about it, but I need to speak with someone about... about this.”   
  
And he points towards the ward sign hanging above the doorway. The nurse looks at it and then at him, still wide eyed. 

“Oh,” she says faintly. It takes her another few seconds before she roots around for a form, and then she asks with a faint edge of incredulity, “Name and salutation?”   
  
“Potter, ma’am,” he answers, still feeling sick. “Harry Potter.”   
  
“Yes. Right.” She notes that down in her beautifully careful script. “Miss, Mister, or other?”   
  
“What?”   
  
She smiles a little too widely, nervous. “It’s procedure. We don’t assume anything with a uterus is a woman, of course. There are the exceptions, and pranks gone wrong, that sort of thing, and then some in your, er... Your particular position.”   
  
Harry just stares at her, still caught on one thing. “Other is an option?”   
  
“I... I can’t say that I’ve ever used it, but yes, it is. You would, of course, have to provide us with a salutation to use.”   
  
He nods slowly. For some reason, this is actually serving to calm him down. “Mister would be fine.”   
  
She notes it. Then she asks him to sit down in the tiny waiting area while she goes to fetch someone to look at him. He doesn’t wait long, either because someone is readily available or his name has given him celebrity status once again, then a cheerful mediwitch is leading him personally to an exam room. She smiles bright and lively, talks the entire time, and goes through the examination with deft swiftness.   
  
Harry is two months pregnant. He’s due in March. It takes a second for him to backtrack to the date of conception and remember what happened, confirm that she’s right.    
  
He sits on the examination table numbly as the mediwitch, Madame Greensleeves, babbles to an automatic quill, noting out things he needs to avoid eating or doing, others he needs to start, things he should expect. She makes sure to assure him that a lack of morning sickness, while slightly strange, isn’t anything to worry about, and then continues on to a list of potions to start taking. Vaguely, Harry is aware of making an appointment to come back so she can continue to monitor him and the baby, and then she pushes a few sheets of parchment into his hands and sends him on his way with a pat on the shoulder and an assurance that all will be well.    
  
Once he’s home, Harry sits at the kitchen table and tries very, very hard not to cry. He’s never been the crying sort, not outside the panic attacks, and he’s not panicking right now so much as just utterly overwhelmed by everything. His hands go to his belly, which hasn’t begun to distend but will, he knows it will, and he feels a little sick about it.   
  
Harry has never really felt any sort of disconnect with his body. He doesn’t mind being female, has never really sought to change that because this body has served him well his entire life. It makes him no more woman than man, in his own mind. But sitting at the table by himself, hands over the growing child inside him, _changing him_ , Harry for the first time in his life feels _wrong_. And _that_ is what makes him finally break down.   
  
He doesn’t hear anyone come in but suddenly he’s enveloped in warm, strong arms, and catches the smell of spicy-sweet shampoo, and he lets Ginny guide him away from the table and to the couch where she holds him against her and lets him cling to her tight. Harry hides his face against her chest and lets the familiar curves of her body and gentle fingers through his hair soothe him.    
  
“I’m having a baby,” he blurts, but it comes out sounding like, “Ahmavinaby.”   
  
Ginny snorts and guides his head up a bit so he can speak clearly and tell her again. Then she nods thoughtfully and says, “We should probably tell Ron and Hermione, then.”   
  
Harry’s stomach lurches so hard that he nearly pukes. He must have shown it because Ginny tugs him closer and presses her mouth to his, all soft and slow and distracting. Harry slowly relaxes against her and they spend most of the afternoon making out and cuddling and not talking about babies until Ron gets home.    
  
They tell him and Ron just stares for a few seconds. He looks at Harry’s belly, back to his face. Then he slowly smiles with barely veiled excitement and asks, “When?”   
  
“March,” Ginny responds because Harry is still twisted in knots.    
  
“I guess we’ll need a nursery then,” Ron decides and then he draws Harry to him in a tight hug. “ _Merlin_ , I love you. This is great, absolutely brilliant.”   
  
Harry’s known that Ron wants a family, a _big_ family, but he’s heady with relief at how well Ron’s taking this. Ron’s almost vibrating with it, babbling about paint colors of all things, and Ginny pokes fun at him but Ron doesn’t let it get him down at all. The ball of tension in Harry’s stomach unfurls a little.   
  
When Hermione gets home a few hours later, she’s more thoughtful than excited, but she kisses Harry’s cheek and gives him a hug and then takes the parchment he got from the mediwitch to read over. He gladly lets her, knowing she’s better at the practical things than he is.    
  
It’s a week later, during a lunch meet, that Harry tells Draco. They’ve been having lunch once or twice a month for a while now, and dinner when there’s time, which there often isn’t. Harry’s busy with auror business and Draco barely has time to sleep around meetings with Ministry officials and the duties to various organizations, inherited from his father, but they make time when they can.    
  
“Congratulations,” Draco says mildly after a sip of tea. “I suppose Weasley is insufferable about it.”   
  
“Well, Ginny has been thinking of ridiculous names...”   
  
“Good for her. I meant the more annoying one.”   
  
Harry shrugs a little. “He’s pretty happy. I mean, Ron likes kids a lot.”   
  
“Surely he’ll be even more ridiculous with his own spawn than someone else’s brats,” Draco muses, rolling his eyes a little.

Harry is silent. After a moment, Draco looks at him, a slim brow raised. “It is his, isn’t it?”   
  
Harry’s throat is tight with a tension he didn’t realize he felt. He stares ahead, his hands falling reflexively to his stomach. There is a deep, pulsing fear inside him that he can’t name and can’t fight.    
  
“Potter,” Draco calls sharply, grabbing Harry’s shoulder. In an instant, Harry snaps out of it. He takes a few deep breaths, heart pounding, and then stares back at Draco’s worried face.   
  
“Fine,” he says, feeling vague and uncomfortable.    
  
“Doubtful,” Draco replies bluntly. He lets go, settles back in his seat, but doesn’t lose the worry. “I won’t ask, but does Weasley know it isn’t his?”   
  
Harry swallows. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”   
  
“You didn’t say it was.”   
  
He looks away, embarrassed, and presses his fingers harder against his stomach. Draco lets the quiet sit for a few minutes before he lets out an explosive breath.   
  
“Look,” he says, like he’s throwing down a gauntlet. “I won’t tell you how to run your life. Merlin knows you wouldn’t listen if I tried, and it isn’t as though I have any claim to do so, but allow me one piece of advice. Be honest with your lovers. Be open with them. If you can't trust them, the who in this bloody world can you? The three of them, they’ll help you raise it, right?”   
  
Harry nodded.   
  
“Good. I might have words with them if they didn’t. But that is neither here nor there. My point, Potter, is the honesty bit. If the child is Weasley’s, he has the right to know. If it isn’t, doubly so. That’s my opinion on it. You can take it or not. Matters very little to me.”   
  
It matters a hell of a lot to him, that much is clear, but Harry doesn’t call him on it. He looks out over the grounds of Malfoy Manor and tries to calm his nerves. It doesn’t work.   
  
“It’ll be a Potter,” he murmurs quietly after a little while.   
  
“What?”   
  
“The baby. It’ll be a Potter.” Harry glances to him. “It’ll be hounded its whole life because I’m its father.”   
  
Draco’s eyes narrow as he follows the line of reasoning, but he doesn’t interrupt.    
  
“If the other parent were known, they’d be hounded just as bad. Maybe even worse. They’d be overshadowed by association with me.”   
  
“I hope you aren’t suggesting that your loved ones don’t already have to deal with idiots wanting to talk about you through them.”   
  
“That’s my _point_. It’s already this bad. How bad would it be to be The-One-Who-Knocked-Up-The-Savior-Of-The-Wizarding-World? Especially when I’m involved with Ginny.”   
  
Draco snorts. He shakes his head a little. “I understand your reasoning, Potter. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”   
  
Harry relaxes a little. “I’m not naming a father on the birth certificate.”   
  
“That is your decision. A poor one, I think, but yours none the less.”   
  
He lets things drop and Harry is eternally grateful for that. The rest of their lunch is quiet but pleasant. Draco walks Harry to the front gate afterward and Harry feels a flash of regret that nothing became of their one night years ago except for this friendship, but he shakes that thought away quickly. He's glad to have anything with his formal rival. Stopping outside the gate, he looks back. Draco gives him a curious look, since Harry usually leaves immediately.    
  
“Forgotten something?”   
  
“We’ve been friends for years,” Harry muses. “How come you still don’t call me Harry?”   
  
Draco blinks a little and then his eyes go flinty and guarded as he draws himself up all proud and protected. It hurts to watch.    
  
“Friend is too strong a word,” he says coolly and then starts to turn away but Harry darts back through the gate to grab his hand, startling the other wizard. “Potter, what-”   
  
“You can call me what you like,” Harry tells him quickly and Draco just stares at him. It’s hard to notice, the way his protective shields crack, but Harry has seen him unguarded. He knows what to look for. “You can call me anything. I don’t mind.”   
  
Draco swallows but he doesn’t tug his hand free. “...Of course I can. I have the right to say what I like-”   
  
“Can I?”   
  
The brittle sharpness returns but Draco doesn’t lash out, doesn’t strike. His eyes dart around Harry’s face like they’re searching for something.    
  
“I don’t have the time nor inclination to censor you,” Draco says finally. He pulls free of Harry’s grip, but Harry grins anyway, even as Draco rolls his eyes. “Go on then. I’m done with you for now.”   
  
“Sure you are,” Harry teases but he leaves Draco to his own.    
  
When Harry gets to his office, he pens Ginny a letter since she’s off on a week of intensive training for her team and then goes to the head of the auror corps to put in a request for maternity leave in March. His commander is floored. Rumors get out within a day and then Harry is hounded by the press, wanting to know the particulars, who was involved, how it happened. He dodges them when he can, deflects when it’s possible, and then blatantly escapes when he wants.   
  
His friends and lovers are patient with him and less with anyone asking questions and it is Harry’s hope that they will all be able to shield his child from the brunt of it. He might as well get the practice in now. 

**Author's Note:**

> This one's been done a while but I didn't have a second finished story to post with it (I'm OCD and even numbers is one of my ticks.) So XD here


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